Last night marked the reunion of most of the ladies of Three Letters. We've taken a sabbatical for the past few months while The Canadian, the mitochondria of the band, was in Paris. And last night, when holiday rock shows sprouted up all over the factory we got together, appreciated and rocked.
First was Hammerslag Jazz Workshop, a cross-departmental band. A bandmate's husband played drums, and that was awesome.
Then some of us went off to see the technicians' band, featuring our bass player on vocals. They rocked hard. We came to represent. Women stood up front and rocked, and behind them rows of men stood there expressionless. They're technicians. Underneath the complete lack of emotion I'm sure they were having a very very good time.
We moved over to another building to catch the set by the idea guys. They were rocking the songs of the 70's and sounded amazing but their crowd was DULL. No offense, people, but it's o.k. to dance. So we did, and were joined by my wubbie. And shee jimmy and cobbu-san and we brought the party.
What's funny about all of us is that as a group we're far more impressed by the common man doing uncommon things than by the uncommon man doing uncommon things. A famous rock guitarist came and sat in with the band and played on some of his hits. People cheered more and were more excited by regular members of the bands' solos because they were less expected.
Finally the tool and die group played and brought down the house with a horn section and awesome vocals. One member of the band said that when they have gigs and the ladies of Three Letters are not there they aren't as good. So sweet.
Somewhere during the technicans' band I made my step count. The daily total was sixteen thousand, which would have been about thirty two thousand had I still had my 'slag pedometer. But I lost it in Taiwan.